The Birthday Lunch (21 page)

Corrie watches Millie Keirstead’s ten-year-old grandson make his way toward the veranda and reluctantly climb the steps. Corrie knows that if she wasn’t on the veranda, Neil would toss the newspaper on the step. “Thank you, Neil,” Corrie says and waits while he hands her the newspaper. Not a word from Neil, who according to Millie, is unhappy living with his grandmother while his mother cleans houses for the well-to-do in Rothesay.

Corrie unfolds the
Kings County Record
and there on the front page is an article about Lily McNab’s death. STREET MISHAP FATAL, the headline reads.
Mishap
strikes Corrie as a weak word that doesn’t come close to describing being killed by a speeding truck.

Somebody by the name of Daryl Dexter has written this drivel. Donald Trites, the editor of the
Kings County Record
, must be on holiday because if he had read this piece of sloppy reporting, he would never have allowed it to be printed. Donald is a stickler for facts and Daryl Dexter did not check the facts. He did not mention the fact that Lily McNab was in the crosswalk, that the gravel truck was going way over the speed limit, that after the driver hit Lily McNab, it took him more than fifty feet to stop and he bashed into Millie Keirstead’s planter. Daryl Dexter did not mention the fact that the police were more than an hour late arriving at the accident scene and that by that
time the ambulance had taken the body away, Curtis Parlee was nowhere to be seen. Instead of interviewing Carl Reidle and Corrie, Daryl Dexter had gone to the police who “attached no blame to the driver.” Corrie will write Donald Trites a letter informing him of the facts and request that a correction be printed in the newspaper. As a member of the town council, Donald already knows the town police cannot be trusted to get their facts straight. Corrie will urge him to use her letter as further evidence that the town’s force should be replaced by the RCMP. She will write the letter today and encourage Millie to do the same.

Hal is the first one up on Saturday morning. He dresses quickly, goes down the front stairs and steps into brilliant, eye-blinking light. He crosses the driveway and opens the garage door and there on the workbench, situated on a map sketched by the sunlight that has found its way through the leafy shapes outside the window, is the ditty box. Hal rubs his hand over the dry, smooth surface and satisfied that there are no rough spots or splinters, he will now finish the job. He opens the bottom drawer of his tool chest where he keeps odds and ends and removes the rectangle of sapphire velvet. He holds it up for inspection. The remnant is about the right size. Smoothing it flat on the bench, he checks and rechecks its measurements, and then the measurements of the ditty box. Wiping the shears clean, he cuts the velvet, holding it in place with the T-square. He works slowly, measuring with care before cutting the cloth and placing the strips upside-down on
the workbench and coating them with a thin layer of carpenter’s glue. One by one Hal eases the strips onto the sides of the ditty box and smoothes them flat. The large rectangle is the last to be sheared and coated with glue. Then he presses it carefully to the bottom and thumbs it into the corners until there are no apparent seams, wrinkles or bumps. Next, he oils the key and fits it into the lock. A perfect fit. Hal stands back to admire his work. Lily would be pleased; she did not care about possessions and did not share his passion for beautiful wood, but she would be pleased.

Hal hears his daughter calling, “Dad?”

“In here,” Hal says. He has left the garage door open and soon Claudia is standing beside him. “Is that the container?” she asks.

“It is.” Hal turns the key and lifts the lid.

Claudia rubs her hand over the velvet. “It’s beautiful, Dad. Is it a jewellery box?”

“No. It’s a ditty box sailors used to hold their keepsakes when they were at sea.”

“ ‘Home is the sailor, home from the sea,’ ” Claudia says. “It’s perfect for Mom. We should take it upstairs and show Matt and Trish.”

“No. The ditty box stays here until …”

“Yes.” Claudia puts an arm around her father. “We should go in, Dad. Trish is about to take a frittata out of the oven.”

“What’s a frittata?”

“A kind of omelette.”

Hal is a fastidious, tidy man and as he follows his daughter to the door, he notices a wink of sunlight on the cement
floor and cannot resist picking up a pearl-sized gold earring. He places it on his palm and holds it out to his daughter. “Is this yours?”

“I don’t wear that kind of earring,” Claudia says. “It’s more Auntie’s style. I think I’ve seen her wearing an earring like this one.”

“But what would she be doing inside the garage? She parks the Volkswagen in the driveway. Why would she come into the garage?”

“Who knows? Come on, Dad. The frittata will be cold,” Claudia says. Pocketing the earring, Hal follows her inside.

Breakfast is over and Matt is alone in the kitchen where, hangover or not, he has been left with cleaning up. The telephone rings and picking it up, he hears Corrie ask if he has read the
Kings County Record
. “Not yet,” he says.

“Don’t read it. There’s an article about the accident on the front page written by a nitwit by the name of Daryl Dexter. He got the facts wrong and it will upset your family to read it.”

Matt thanks Corrie for the warning and hangs up the telephone, thinking:
Can it get any worse
?

He is still at the sink when Claudia, on her way to the clothes dryer, comes into the kitchen. He tells her about Corrie’s call. “Well,” Claudia says, “when you and Dad are out, don’t let him buy a copy of the
Kings County Record
.”

“When Dad and I are out?”

“At breakfast, you told Dad you wanted to see the store.”

Matt has already forgotten.

“And I want you to take the ditty box and the ashes to the undertaker’s. Mr. Alyward offered to transfer the ashes and I told him I would do it but I can’t, and neither can Dad. Anyway, Trish and I are going to drive to Fox Hill and pick wildflowers.”

“Don’t we have enough flowers?”

“We do. But Trish suggested we take them to the reception where people who sent the flowers can see them. Afterwards the flowers can be taken to the hospital. Mom loved wildflowers and we’re going to pick some for her grave. We want to get everything ready before Welland arrives tonight.”

“Before you go flower picking, I need a lift to Roachville to pick up the Mazda,” Matt says. “Is it okay with you if I take the Honda and Trish can drive it back?”

“Sure,” Claudia says. Matt is about to tell his sister that Curtis Parlee and Corrie signed the witness statements that will support the accident insurance claim when Hal comes into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Hey, Dad,” Matt says. “Trish and I are driving to Roachville to pick up the Mazda. Do you want to come along?”

“Sure,” Hal says. “Why not?”

Claudia waits until the Honda pulls out of the driveway before telephoning downstairs. She is concerned about her aunt. Laverne has not telephoned or been upstairs since Curtis Parlee came to the house.

Laverne answers after the second ring. “Auntie,” Claudia says. “Is it convenient for me to come downstairs? I want to tell you about the arrangements tomorrow.”

“You had better come right away,” Laverne says. “I am expecting Hennie Pronk to arrive any minute now. She asked me to help her unload the kiln.” Hennie Pronk. Hennie’s son, Jan, taught Claudia high school math. His class was always in an uproar because he could not keep order and Claudia considered herself lucky to have squeaked through with a passing mark.

Laverne waits until she hears Claudia on the stairs before opening the door. Claudia is surprised to see her aunt wearing casual clothing: a cotton shirt and pants, and that her face is made up. Her aunt does not suggest Claudia sit so she stands in the pantry doorway and explains that the family will drive to Kirk Hill at one o’clock tomorrow. Reverend Harrington will meet them at the gravesite and guide them through a brief ceremony. After the ashes are buried, they will drive to Adair’s, and following the reception the family will gather upstairs for dinner. “Dad’s brother is due in tonight so there will be six of us around the table tomorrow,” Claudia says.

Laverne has never met Hal’s brother but she knows he is a medical doctor somewhere in Florida. “Thank you, Claudia,” she says. “I appreciate you letting me know.”

“You’re welcome, Auntie.” Formality, Claudia thinks, so much formality is required to conceal the pain of sorrow. “If you need anything …”

“Yes. If I need anything, I will let you know.”

Claudia unloads the dryer and stowing the folded towels in the bathroom cupboard, she cleans the toilet and sink and mops the floor. Taking advantage of the empty apartment she mops
and dusts the living and dining rooms. When she and her brother were teenagers, he was the tidy one and whenever their mother insisted Claudia tidy her room, Matt would make a smartass remark. Back then he was full of smartass remarks.

The doorbell rings and Claudia opens the front door and there on the mat is the supper basket but no Sophie, and Claudia carries the still warm meal upstairs and into the kitchen. Lifting the tea towel she takes out the chicken stew and rhubarb pie and places them on the counter beside the stove.

Hennie and Laverne have finished their meal of sliced ham and hard-boiled eggs, red cabbage and cheese. Later, after the kiln is unloaded, they will have coffee and strudel. Hennie leads the way to the studio and asks Laverne to step into the kiln. Usually it is Hennie who steps into the kiln but today she is willing to allow Laverne to be the first in, the first to hold the warm bowls and vases and pass them up to Hennie who will place them on the wooden shelves. Although it is uneconomical to fire up a half-full kiln, Hennie fired it up last night so that it would be ready for Laverne to help unload today.

Today’s bounty is for the tourist trade: the small bowls and pitchers, mugs and vases, egg cups and toothpick holders that tourists buy as souvenirs. Hennie does not sell her work from home. Too many interruptions, too many people banging on her door at all hours of the day. So much better to box up her beauties, as Henrik called them, and send them to the shops in St. Andrews, Shediac and Saint John. Using the old
Ford, Hennie delivers the boxes intended for Cozy Corner on Main Street herself.

Hennie makes a point of telling her students that after sixty years of making pottery, opening the kiln still excites her because it always brings surprises that only heat and the bounty of the earth can produce. Hennie has always used minerals to make the colours: copper carbonate for turquoise blue, zinc oxide for red, celadon for green, cobalt for deep blue, manganese to pock and crater the clay. She has seen the shoddy work in the shops, the glazes made from cat litter and talcum powder. Hennie’s prices are high but there is none of this cheating. Those who buy her work know they are buying the work of an artist.

Laverne cradles each piece before passing it up to Hennie. When she passes up a small earthenware pitcher with a cobalt blue glaze, Laverne exclaims, “Why, this is a miniature of the pitcher you made for me!”

“Since I made yours, I’ve made a dozen or more of those pitchers for the tourists,” Hennie says.

When Laverne returned from Holland last summer, she described the pitcher she had seen in de Hooch’s painting and asked Hennie if she could make a replica. Hennie assured her she could make one, that such pitchers were as common as clay pipes in the seventeenth century. Hennie had seen Laverne’s apartment and recognized the tiled floors, the amber window, the portrait of the burgomeister and she was sad that her friend had tried to copy a painting, that she was so lonely she had to borrow the rooms Pieter de Hooch painted. Laverne’s loneliness is peculiar but Hennie knows that loneliness is different
for everybody. Her own loneliness is why she keeps working: if she does not keep working she fears she will die in a madhouse like Pieter de Hooch.

When the kiln is empty and Hennie’s treasures are stowed on the shelves, she tells Laverne she may choose a small piece for herself. Hennie rarely gives away a piece, she will not be able to support herself if she gives away her treasures. But she has not forgotten Laverne’s kindness to herself and Jan after Henrik died and life as they knew it had come to an end. When Hennie took to her bed and refused to go outside, Laverne insisted that on weekdays she and Hennie take short walks to the post office, the bank and the drugstore, short walks that helped Hennie grow strong.

“Are you sure you want to give me one?” Laverne says.

“Yes.”

Laverne picks up one piece after another and finally chooses a pale green vase.

“Celadon,” Hennie says, “is restful and calm.”

“Thank you, Hennie. I will keep it beside my bed.”

Matt and Hal cross the stone bridge: the ditty box on Hal’s knee. They pass O’Connell Park where kids are jumping and splashing in the Kiwanis Pool. Hal hears the lifeguard’s shrill whistle, the shrieks and whoops of laughter, happy sounds he would rather not hear. Since Lily’s death there has been a wall of glass between him and people he does not know: he sees them on the other side of the glass, but finds no pleasure in knowing they are enjoying themselves.